It was a downward trajectory
Like poetry
Sifting the salt from the universe
Forging the faces of her and me
Adrenaline bands, the Kuiper belt
Argonaut planets beginning to melt
The atmosphere, our feathered slip
My sister’s tired, losing her grip

I N ST I T U T IO N

Wintry weather frosts me here
Thinking of her my lovely daffodil
Memories that long disappear
But it never left me still

One old September still fresh and new
When we both said "I love you"
Funny moment as cool as dew
Now the then one split in two

Looking back is funny fool inside
Smiling while storm ruled my very eyes
Little by little I've realized
That I need to roll the dice

I've asked the winter why oh why
Why such a lovely moment need to fly
But still in my heart, it never says goodbye
The story of my lovely daffodil and I


9/16/2016
Mysterious_aries

I’ve got dials in my head, clicking like a winding down timer
While I'm finding a channel that isn’t just static
Or a faded children's primer, illegible and bleeding its ink
Like its supposed to be tragic or the ***** Dozen
Resting in the kitchen sink; reduced to vegetables after
An overtly silent war on the terror of omniscient pesticides.
We're the violent, thirsty poor and we're the weeds thrusting
Our roots through drunken misdeeds with the staying power
Of a half-decayed pursuit scrawled in the margins
Of a faded children's primer, illegible and bleeding its ink
Till it sprawls off the page into gin-fueled wishes
And rage till it's only me again, fighting dials and static,
Supposing that I can't be mended as I light another match
And wait for the commercials to end.

Too soon comes Autumn, as nipping the heels
Of unwary Summer it stealthily seals
Small changes in heavily leaf-laden trees.
Summer fruits begin dropping, balanced astride
Branches festooned, in which Autumn takes hide
Before battle commences it's shivery breeze
Which scatters browned leaves, to bring to their knees
Beaten down Summer days of warm ease.

Autumn comes running, nor waits to abide
While brave Summer blooms adjust to it's ride.
It tosses, relentless, all 'Summer' it sees
Havocing treetops, nor does it allay
It's mischievous goadings for yet one more day.
Scurrying birds sense each warning of chill.
Consistently peck around my window-sill,
Fattening on seeds before temperatures freeze.

Autumn comes running
To stay.

You can keep your basket of good intentions.
I say this without condescension.
It's just that I've got a small place;
I really can't spare the space.
Plus the basket seems rather flimsy
As if put together on a whimsy.
Now if you happen to have a sturdy crate of action,
I think I would be able to make an exception.